The Book of a Thousand Days by Shannon Hale                          

(This is quite confusing to explain) Basically it’s all about a girl named Dashti who becomes the maid of the Lady Saren whose father want her to marry Lord Khasar but Saren is already betrothed to Khan Tegus. Saren’s father then shuts her and Dashti in a tower and claims he will only release them after seven years, or if Saren will marry Khasar.

In the tower they are visited by Tegus, Saren’s fiancé, but Saren refuses to speak to him, and makes Dashti pretend to be her and speak with him instead.

Khasar, the man who Saren’s father wants her to marry, comes next and he flings burning wood chips into the tower so Saren throws the contents of the girls’ dump bucket onto his head, and he leaves.

After two and a half years in the tower Dashti finds a way out through the hole made by the rats. They escape and find that Saren’s city has been destroyed and Dashti takes her to her own city. Dashti hopes that Saren will go to Tegus, her fiancé but she refuses. Dashti continues to sing healing songs to her lady, and this causes her to be brought before Tegus, who has an injured leg.

After Dashti sings to him, Tegus treats her as a friend and not a commoner. Khasar, who destroyed Saren’s city, continues to conquer kingdoms, leading Tegus to become engaged to Lady Vachir to gain her city’s military assistance.

Khasar’s army reaches the fields outside the city and Khasar sends an offer to leave the city if they’ll give him Lady Saren. Dashti steps forward pretending to be Lady Saren and it is revealed that Tegus and Saren never saw each other, so the ruse works.

Dashti then sneaks out to see Khasar on the battle field. There, she pretends to be Saren once more, and coaxes him into singing the song of the wolf, which forces him to transform into a wolf. It is revealed that Khasar sold his soul for the power to transform into a wolf at night, and in his wolf state some of his men shoot him.

Tegus takes Dashti back to the city and the leaderless army goes home. Still believing she is Saren, he calls off his betrothal to Lady Vachir to honor his commitment to her. They are scheduled to be wed and Dashti begins to hate the lie she’s telling. Due to her growing feelings for Tegus, she asks Saren once more to reveal the truth. Saren refuses and so Dashti refuses to marry Tegus.

Unable to continue the lie, Dashti tries to escape the city and is captured by Lady Vachir’s soldiers. Lady Vachir found Dashti’s diary and demands Dashti be beheaded immediately. Some of Dashti’s friends interfere, and Lady Vachir settles for cutting off one of Dashti’s feet to prevent her from escaping again.

Before her foot can be cut off, Tegus arrives, having been brought to the scene by Saren. It is revealed to him that Dashti is not Lady Saren as he had been led to believe.

At the trial the next day, Tegus defends Dashti and she is declared innocent but the chiefs decide that Lady Saren should marry Tegus. Dashti is upset, but Saren declares that she gives Tegus to Dashti instead and they are happily wed. Awww

Chick-lit. Nice enough. Some quite funny satire of life in the suburbs.

Addie and Val have been best friends since they were in elementary school.  Now, the two are in their thirties, and Addie lives alone in her parents’ old house in their hometown, while Val is the weathergirl at a Chicago TV station, and not only do they have nothing in common anymore, but they really don’t speak with one another at all.  On the night of their high school reunion, Addie is home recovering from a terrible date when Val suddenly shows up at her front door, scared out of her mind, and tells her that something awful has happened and Addie is the only one who can help.  The two then take a trip cross-country as they slowly, but surely, rekindle their long-lost friendship.

I have read and loved most of Jennifer Weiner’s books, so I obviously assumed that Best Friends Forever would be no exception.  Perhaps my hopes were a little too high for this one because at the end of the day, I thought the book was just okay.  I don’t know… I liked it, it just wasn’t what I was really expecting.  Let me explain.

First of all, there were really two main plots in the book.  There was the main story, which was Val and Addie together, getting to know each other again and becoming friends again.  Their story was told from Addie’s point of view, and it alternated between the present and flashbacks from the past, giving the reader a complete picture of their friendship over time.  And then there was the second story, about the detective that was trying to solve the mystery of what happened that night when Val came to Addie’s house and asked for help.  And the storyline with the detective, Jordan, I just plain did not like.  For me, it distracted from Addie and Val and their friendship.  That was what I really wanted to read about.  So every time the book would switch to Jordan and his search, I would just get annoyed.  I mean, I understand how that was a part of the entire novel, and important to the development of the characters, but honestly I just did not enjoy that aspect of the book whatsoever.

I also felt that Weiner could have gone deeper with these characters.  Perhaps if the whole Jordan thing wasn’t in the book, there would have been more time devoted to developing Addie and Val, I don’t know.  But many aspects of their personalities just seemed very stereotypical and it’s not like Weiner to stereotype her characters.  They are usually complex and full… Addie and Val were decent characters, I just think they could have been better.

Best Friends Forever definitely isn’t all bad.  I finished the book, didn’t I?  Weiner’s smart and sassy writing, which I have come to expect from her as an author, was in full force throughout the novel.  She’s great at dialogue, both between characters and inside the main character’s head.  I felt like I really was able to get inside Addie’s brain and get to know her through her speaking in first person to the reader.  I felt like she did a great job at showing us, slowly, how the relationship between Addie and Val developed when they were kids and then how it unraveled in their high school years.  There was a good build up of suspense for me, waiting to figure out what happened to cause their falling-out in their teens.

I also have to admit that I really liked how the book ended.  I can’t deny my love of a happy ending, and Best Friends Forever definitely delivered on that front.  It didn’t really surprise me, but then again I wasn’t looking for a surprise, so that was okay.  I was just looking for things to work out for these ladies and for the most part, I got what I wanted with the ending.  Jennifer Weiner definitely knows how to tie up loose ends, something I appreciate in a feel-good novel like this one.

So, overall, Best Friends Forever wasn’t my favorite read, but it was okay.  I’m not sure I’d fully recommend the book, but I will say that if you’re looking to try Jennifer Weiner, I’d start with Good in Bed or In Her Shoes – those two are much more representative of the awesomeness that is Jennifer Weiner.

Waterstone’s Synopsis:

Two eavesdropping train passengers learn more than they bargained for about their own love lives; an office-party fling has unforeseen consequences for a young woman and for a marriage; a suburban housewife is forced to face her past when her estranged mother, famous and exotic, makes contact after many years; an office worker who imagines herself an undercover agent finds her commute to work livened up by the daily sightings of a handsome stranger…whose life she decides to investigate; an adopted woman journeys to meet the woman who gave her up all those years ago, and finds that all is not what she imagined!

This is a book full of short stories. Each story focuses on a passenger of the Dart. Some stories involved people from other stories, others were stand-alone stories. None were very long but I found them all readable, making this a quick read.

I have never read Sheila O’Flanagan and I will read her work again. I found the book enjoyable and easy to read. All the stories were gripping but I did find that some of them were not finished to my liking. There was one story about domestic violence and I thought that the resolution was too predictable and that the issue was not really looked into. There were other stories I would like to read as long stories too.

This is chick-lit and was enjoyable. I would have liked more depth in some of the stories but this was a quick book to read and I liked how O’Flanagan wrote. The stories are generally full of love and friendship and they were nice reads. If you want a quick, chick-lit book to read, this is for you.

8/10

Finished: 25/11/09

Genre: Chick Lit/Paranormal

Rated: A

Opening Sentence: ‘…Every smiley moon, without fail, Claire dreamed of her childhood…’

This is the story of 2 sisters, Claire and Sydney, who each find a different way to cope with being deserted as children by a mother who lived on the wild side of life. Each has inherited the magic that the women of their family is renowned for. Claire creates her magic with her cooking, blending herbs to influence the actions of others, but stays close to the family home that she inherits.   Sydney, the younger sister, follows the  mother she never knew through a series of abusive men in different parts of the USA.  Finally she can take no more – and escapes home to Claire – bringing a daughter, Bay, with her.

Sydney thinks she has no magical talent – but soon it manifests itself as the  Waverley family home weaves its own magic over the two women.  Sydney’s magical ability is to style and cut hair with a magic that spells her customers into feeling self confident and flirty. Their elderly aunt, Evanelle,  gives strange gifts to people that they don’t know they need until something happens later.

The magical story is set  a completely believable small-town world. The magic is present, but subtle, no wand waving here.  In the town are real characters, all struggling with their own problems.  The women have to discover each other, find love, and overcome their fears before a great danger arrives to be overcome.

There is one more special character that needs to be mentioned – the apple tree.  Which is as much of a part of the family as Claire, Sydney and Bay.

Title: Good in Bed

Author: Jennifer Weiner

Call #: WEI

Imagine opening up the latest issue of a popular magazine to see your ex-boyfriend has written a column about why your relationship failed.  Now imagine that that column is titled “Loving a Larger Woman,” and you can begin to understand Cannie’s situation. See what all the fuss is about in the novel that launched best-seller Weiner’s career and try the sequel, Certain Girls.

Recommended by: Becky

Bernard Cornwell’s name is fitting, because it begins with a B, and his books are built around the three B’s: Bitches, Beer, and Battle. If we dare be more callous, we can easily translate this triad to reflect Cornwell’s surname, thus rendered: Cunts, Cups, and Combat. Obviously, Cornwell writes books for men, and suffice to say that if I saw a woman reading a Sharpe novel, I’d call her an impostor and a spy – unless she were a lesbian orc. Except, that would be even more suspicious.

Now shut your face and read one of Cornwell’s books before you disdain my sexual profiling; mighty fast you’ll see what I’m talking about. His fantastic storytelling abilities may win over some lesbian orcs, but at heart his novels are about killing and fucking, and these two activities are done by men to men and men to women, respectively; and consequently, I have no doubts that the novels will appeal primarily to dudes. At first blush this may seem prejudicial, but on sober reflection it becomes apparent that Cornwell’s work is the ineluctable male counterpart of chick lit – dick lit, if you will.

I’ll remind you again to fuck off before you, in your wellspring of infinite tolerance, rage against my obscenity. The Pale Horseman, the second book of the Saxon Stories, kicks off with the protagonist riding away from a bloody victory on the battlefield to “plough” his wife, whom he insists is “a good field to plough.” I’ll tell you right now, there’s a lot of plowing in Cornwell’s books, and he doesn’t write about farmers – except to say that their fields will be fertilized by the enemy’s blood. Whether or not Cornwell intends to, he glorifies this shit, and despite the fact that war and sexual subjugation are unqualifiedly wrong, Cornwell is such a damned good storyteller that, in the heat of the read, it becomes near impossible to resist the Hobbesian heteronormative imperative and get swept away in a torrent of the three B’s and/or C’s.

Wut?

But despite the iniquity of Cornwell’s worlds – which, we should not forget, are historical, rather than purely fictive, worlds – his books give me great satisfaction. They’re entertainment – entertainment well done, I should add – and they need to be approached with all the enlightenment of the modern age to prevent oneself from becoming a beast through the consumption of their delights.

So take this as both warning and laudation. Whatever desires they might stir in my primal heart, I know that Cornwell’s heroes – who are killers and adulterers all – are bad men, and I caution you to remember that. But if you want a read that will keep you on the edge of your seat and fill you from top to bottom with murderous, rapacious, and unshakeable passion, pick up a Cornwell. And pick one up for me, too, because I’m nearly done Enemy of God.

-bn

Good lord, I am bored.  With the exception of New Moon, (which was EXCELLENT) there have been no new movies that have piqued my interest and no new chick lit books either.  Will there be any new books coming out at Christmas?  I haven’t even gotten an email from Borders, letting me know what books are being released.  

Am I missing something?  Is there anything good out there?  I bought the new Joyce Carol Oates book, Little Bird of Heaven, and it is very, very slow….I am limping through it.   But, I bought Alli Vincent’s new book, Believe it, Be it, and Sarah Parlin’s book, Going Rogue.  Check back soon for my review of both!

This is the first book that I have read by Marian and I have to say, I am sitting on the fence.

Marian writes about a 4 plex townhouse at 66 star street, where there are some very eclectic characters in the mix.  The differences almost immediately discernable, yet they all come together in the end by a force that is in the stars so to speak.

Kate is the one that owns the top flat, who works as a PR representing rocks bands that are making their comebacks to the spotlight, who is turning 40 and has never been married.

There are 2 Polish men that share a flat with Lydia who are cab drivers.  Yes they share a flat, but what else will they share? Only time will tell.

Jessica is the octogenarian in the building.  She is the brains behind the whole building.  She brings into the mix her foster son who is starring in his own TV gardening show that is being recorded.  Did I mention she is also a pay per talk psychic as well?

Then there is Meave and Matt who have been married for a few years, and are happy the way they are, or at least it looks and feels that way until you dig a bit deeper into their lives.

Then there is this force of sorts that is the buildings guardian angel so to speak, who oversees everything, good and bad, feels what they feel and think in quiet ways.  St first the residents do come across this “being” that is looking over them, which makes some think they are being watched, but nothing comes of it, until the last day of the 60 that this “being” is there for and needs to make a huge decision about who and when.

I liked the way that Marian tackles some of the really tough issues of today – older parents aging and getting ill, violent acts that may take hold of a person after the fact, instead of keeping it all buried and not dealt with.

I think that if it could have been laid out differently than  adding a fantasy twist to it, but it was ok.

Penguin / Michael Joseph

Recently, I read a highly recommended Cecelia Ahern chick lit – Where Rainbows End. The idea of using letters to tell the story sure was a successful novel idea (no pun intended). She used notes passed in class, invites, letters, emails, chats, texts (sms) and continued to enthrall me.

The antics of the characters are thoroughly entertaining. Big Brother gets mentioned – not the show in UK, but the all-seeing eyes in office

This book restored my love for Ms Ahern after the tragedy in P.S. I Love You. Before Where Rainbows End, I’d lost my admiration for this young author after I painfully worked my way through A Place Called Here. Honestly, a month on that book when I’d breeze through the rest!

(Photo linked from e-books – Penguin Classics frontcover – the same as the one I’ve got).

I’m rereading Persuasion by Jane Austen and  am struck by that it feels so modern, even though it was written in a dramatically different age. Many of its issues are still current and she has such a sharp eye and wit. It is a pity that Anne Elliot in the recent dramas (even though I really like them) is much mousier than in the books. It – actually all her novels – is well worth (re)reading – much more than a mere romantic saga. Sharp and unsentimental. Very few – if any – contemporary chick lit writers are capable of that sharpness and dry unsentimentality when it comes to the material aspects of life and choosing a partner. Persuasion can be found for free at Google books.

I AM FEELING GOOD

Short Fiction   -   Pure Romance   -   A Love Story

By 

VIKRAM KARVE

Dear Reader, it is a cold morning and during my morning walk this story, one of my earliest writings, suddenly came to my mind and then perambulated in me. It made me feel good. I am sure it will make you feel good too!

I felt good.

My eyes feasted on the snow-clad Himalayan Mountain peaks painted honey-gold by the first rays of sunlight.

Behind me, deep down, was the resplendent Doon valley.

I breathed in slowly, mouth and nose together, relishing the pure, cold, nourishing mountain air.

I felt on top of the world, literally and figuratively, as I stood high in the middle of nowhere on a refreshingly cold bright morning, undecided what I was going to do, or where I was going to go.

What greater freedom than not having anything to do or anywhere to go!

I felt I was flying like a bird in the sky, with no one to take my freedom away.

“Something exciting is going to happen today,” said a tingling sensation within me, as if I were on the top of a high roller-coaster ready to plunge into unknown depths.

Suddenly, at the spur of the moment I decided to visit Victor, and with a spring in my step started walking towards Landour.

“Who’s Piyu ?” I asked Victor, picking up and opening the book lying on the bedside table.

“Piyu?” Victor said, his voice feigning ignorance but his eyes gave him away.

“Yes. Piyu! It’s written here in this book…‘ To my darling Victor, with fond memories of those wonderful moments at Port Blair. Love Piyu ‘… And Wow! Look at the lovely cursive feminine handwriting. So delicate. If her handwriting is so beautiful, she must be really gorgeous. A real beauty! Tell me. Who is she?” I asked teasingly.

“Shalini, you shouldn’t pry into others’ private matters,” Victor said.

“Private ? This is no personal dairy. It’s ‘Selected Stories of Anton Chekhov’. I’m taking it to read.”

“No,” Victor shouted and started to move his wheelchair towards me.

I know I had touched a raw nerve.

“I’m sorry,” I said and gave him the book.

He opened it and stared at Piyu’s handwriting.

“I thought there were no secrets between us,” I said.

“There aren’t,” he said.

“Except Piyu?”

“Please Shalu…….”

“You want to tell me about her?”

“Okay,” Victor said. And then he told me. About Piyu. And him. And their days in Port Blair. Maybe not everything. But whatever he wanted to tell me, he told me.

“Piyu ? A funny name?” I said.

“That’s what I called her. Like you call me Victor.”

I left it at that and said, “Now there are no secrets between us?”

“No! Now there are no secrets between us!” Victor said and gave me the book, “Read it, Shalu. There’s a story called ‘The Darling’. You’re just like the heroine. Always trying to mother me.”

“That’s because you are a naughty boy,” I teased.

“Naughty boy? I’m almost an old man. You should play with girls of your own age.”

“Play? You think I’m a small kid to play Barbie Doll? And you’re not that old either. You are just thirty.”

“I am twice your age.”

“Girls mature faster,” I said. “And your mental age is the same as mine.”

“Come on. You’re just a kid compared to me. I am a man of the world with a lot of experiences.”

“Like Piyu ………” I bit my tongue and said, “I’m sorry.”

“Piyu is a closed chapter,” Victor said.

“I’ve forgotten her,” I said “Piyu will never come between us again.”

“Promise?”

“I Promise.”

“Shalu, why don’t you come to meet me more often?” Victor asked.

“I don’t want to disturb you too much,” I replied.

“Disturb me?” he smiled. “It is impossible to disturb me. You see, I never do anything. Every day is a holiday for me, from morning to night, from the moment I get up to the moment I sleep, there is nothing to do, nothing to look forward to…”

“Don’t speak like that,” I said.

“Okay. But please come more often, Shalu. You make me feel good.”

“You too make me feel good!” I said.

It was true.

Talking to someone who needs comforting seems to make one’s own troubles go away.

“I’ll come on Wednesday. We’ve got a holiday,” I said.

“Promise?”

“Yes. We’ll discuss Anton Chekhov,” I said holding up the book.

“The Darling?”

“The Darling!” I said.

“Okay. Bye. Take care,” he said and lovingly looked at me as I began to walk away.

Victor had come into my life on a cold and rainy evening just a few months back.

I had slipped and fractured my leg playing basketball. It was a simple fracture.

Victor was convalescing from a severe injury to both his legs. His was a complex case, and for months he was confined to a wheelchair not knowing whether or when he would be able to walk again.

Actually, his name wasn’t Victor – he was Vivek – but everyone called him Victor, so I too started calling him Victor.

At first I called him Victor uncle. But as our friendship grew, somewhere on the way, the ‘uncle’ dropped. And now there were no secrets between us.

On Tuesday evening I rushed to see Victor bunking the self-study period.

“A clandestine visit,” I joked.

“Better be careful, Shalu. If your warden finds out, she may think something.”

“Let her,” I said, “I came to tell you I won’t be coming tomorrow.”

“Oh, no! I was looking forward to discussing Anton Chekhov with you.”

“Daddy is coming to Dehradun for some urgent work. He wants me to meet him at the station. He rang up the Principal for permission.”

“That’s great. I’m dying to meet your Dad. Make sure you bring him up here to Mussoorie.”

“I’ll try,” I said.

“You must. I want to ask him for your hand,” he said, tongue-in-cheek.

“How cute,” I said coyly.

“I’ll miss you,” he said.

“Take care.”

“You too take care. Okay Bye,” I said and rushed back to my hostel.

On Wednesday morning I left Mussoorie at six by the first bus and reached Dehradun railway station just in time for the express from Delhi which steamed in at eight.

Daddy was the first to get down from the AC coach and the moment he saw me his face lit up and he gave me a tight warm hug and smothered my cheeks with kisses.

“Please Papa,” I said embarrassed, “People are looking.”

“I feel so good when I see you, Shalu,” he said.

Papa kept the bag he was holding next to me and said, “Look after this. I’ll get the rest of the luggage.”

He beckoned to a porter and went back into the coach.

“Rest of the luggage?” I wondered.

Normally Papa travelled light, with just one bag.”

Soon there were three bags, a basket and a tall young woman with a small child in her arms standing beside Papa.

“Shalu, this is Ms. Bhattacharya. We travelled together from Delhi,” Papa introduced the woman, who smiled a sweet hello, and we began following the porter to the exit.

I looked at the woman through the corner of my eye. She was a real beauty, fair, with a skin like smooth cream. She looked straight ahead, as if looking at a distant object, and walked on expressionless.

But I noticed the way my Papa stole glances at her when he thought I wasn’t looking and I knew that she was much more than a mere fellow passenger.

I felt a tingle of excitement. Something was brewing. Maybe Papa was falling in love. Ten years after mummy had gone.

My father walked with a spring in his step, pulling his stomach in and thrusting his chest out.

“You seem very happy, Papa,” I said mischievously.

“Yes. Yes.” he said, “I’m so happy to see you, Shalu. You look so good.”

He opened the door of the taxi and looked at her, trying to mask the undisguised love in his eyes. It seemed a desperate case of thunderbolt.

I decided to have a bit of fun, quickly got in the car, and said, “Thanks, Papa, for treating me like a lady.”

Then I looked at the woman and said, “Bye Auntie.”

“Auntie is coming with us,” Papa said, “Shalu, you sit in front.”

“It’s okay, I’ll sit in front,” Ms. Bhattacharya said.

“There’s place for all of us at the back,” I said. “We can keep the basket in front next to the driver.”

I shifted, she sat next to me with the baby on her lap, Papa next to her on the other side and we drove in silence through Palton Bazar towards Rajpur road.

I kept quiet, waiting for Papa to tell me everything, but he too remained silent, probably because of the driver.

He got off outside an office. “You two can go to the guest house and freshen up. I’ll join you after finishing my work.

We sat alone at the breakfast table. The baby was sleeping inside. I looked at Ms. Bhattacharya. She looked so elegant yet youthful.

Late twenties? Maybe! Or maybe a bit younger.

I was dying to ask her everything, wondering what to say, when she looked into my eyes and spoke softly, “Shalu, I want to be your mother.”

I was touched by the way she phrased it.

I can’t begin to describe the emotions I felt, but instinctively I blurted out, “Why didn’t Papa tell me?”

She touched my hand and said, “He felt shy, embarrassed. You know how he is. He wanted me to tell you. And leave the decision to you.” She paused, and said; “I know it’s difficult for you. I promise we’ll do what you want. But try to understand. Your Papa feels very lonely.”

“And you?” I asked.

“I am lonely too,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

Suddenly she started to cry into her handkerchief, “I’m sorry,” she said, got up, and went into her room.

I sat confused.

She had been so calm and composed. And suddenly she broke down.

Had I said something wrong?

Maybe I was too young to understand. All I wanted was that Papa should be happy, everyone should be happy; even she should be happy.

Ms. Bhattacharya came out of the room. She had washed up, done up her face and looked so beautiful, so vulnerable, that I instantly felt like hugging her.

Something inside told me that she would make Papa very happy. And me too!

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just that sometimes you wait for a moment and when it comes you don’t know what to do with it.”

 “I like you,” I said. “I know you’ll make Papa happy. Only I wish Papa had told me. Shall I call you mummy?”

She smiled, “Come on Shalini. Be my friend. Call me Priya.”

“Okay,” I held out my hand, “Priya, let’s be friends. And you call me Shalu.”

“Shalu, actually even I wanted your Papa to tell you,” she said.

“He must’ve been embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?”

“To tell me that he’s fallen in love at his age.”

“He’s only 43.”

“And you, Priya?”

“28. Oh come on, I shouldn’t be telling you my age.”

“You look 25,” I said.

She blushed. The baby cried. She went inside.

I went into my room and lay on the bed. What a day! I just couldn’t wait to tell Victor all this. He’d die laughing. Maybe I should marry him. We are so happy together. If Papa can marry Priya, why can’t I marry Victor?

They – 43 and 28 – Adult Love!

We – 15 and 30 – Puppy Love?

It’s not fair, isn’t it?

I drifted into sleep.

When I woke up, Papa was sitting beside me on the bed.

“It’s past one,” he said. “Let’s go for lunch.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Papa?” I asked.

His cheeks, his ears became red. He avoided my eyes.

“I guessed it the moment I saw you two at the station,” I said.

“You’ve really grown up, Shalu,” Papa said. “I’m so happy you have accepted her and your little brother.”

“Brother?” I said dumbstruck, and slowly comprehension dawned on me. I closed my eyes. All sorts of thoughts entered my brains. And suddenly everything was clear. “Oh yes. My little brother.”

Lunch passed off in a trance and soon we were on our way to Mussoorie. I’d wanted to go alone by bus, but Papa wouldn’t hear of it. He had work at the site office near Mussoorie and Priya wanted to see my school. She hadn’t been to Mussoorie before.

It was almost five when Papa got off at the site office and we were cruising on the Mall on the way to my school. Priya was looking out of the window as if searching for something. Suddenly she asked the driver to stop.

“I have to get something. Please look after the baby for a moment,” she said.

I took the baby in my lap and saw her enter Hackman’s, the biggest departmental store in Mussoorie.

She returned fast. “A small gift for you, Shalu” she said giving me a gift-wrapped packet and an envelope containing a greeting card.

I opened the envelope. It was a ‘Thank-you’ card.

She had written a message on the inside of the card:  “…To my darling daughter and friend, Shalini…”

I kept on starting at the beautiful handwriting, unable to read further.

Instantly, I recognized the same unique familiar lovely cursive handwriting, so feminine, so delicate.

Tremors started reverberating in my stomach, like a roller coaster. My pulse was racing. The car negotiated the steep road past Picture Palace up the winding slopes of Landour.

“Priya, look,” I said pointing out of the car window, “that’s the oldest building in Mussoorie. It’s called Mullingar. Isn’t it just like the Cellular Jail?”

“Yes,” she said.

“You’ve seen Cellular Jail?” I asked.

“Of course,” she said. “Many times.”

“You’ve been to Port Blair?” I persisted.

“Yes. I’ve lived there. It’s a lovely place,” she said.

“How lucky,” I said. “I’ve only seen pictures of Cellular Jail.”

Silence. Pregnant silence.

Then I spoke, looking at her child seated on her lap, “Baby. He’s so cute. How old is he?”

“Six months,” she said.

“You haven’t named him?

“Oh yes,” she said, “we call him Baby, his real name is Vivek.”

“Vivek?”

“Yes. Vivek ,” she said “It’s a nice name, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I answered.

I patted the driver on the shoulder and said, “Seedha Le Chalo. Jaldi. Drive fast. To Landour Hospital.”

“Hospital?” Priya asked flabbergasted.

“I want you to meet someone,” I said.

The car stopped outside the hospital. “Come,” I said, and Priya holding her baby in her arms followed me towards the door of Victor’s room.

I opened the door and said, “Come Piyu. Go right in. Your Victor is waiting for you, for both of you.”

I didn’t wait to see the expression on her face.

I quickly turned and ran to the car and shouted to the driver, “Driver – jaldi karo. Be quick. Take me to the site office. Fast.”

As the car descended down the steep slopes of Landour, past Char-Dukan, towards Picture Palace at the end of the Mall, I took out Anton Chekhov’s book from my purse.

I’ll have plenty of time to read it now.

Maybe I’ll keep it as a souvenir to remember Victor.

I opened the book, read on the first page: “To my darling Victor…Love. Piyu.”

I took out my cell-phone and sent an SMS to Victor: “Happy Reunion!”

Then I turned the page and began reading Anton Chekhov’s enthralling short story ‘The Darling.’

As I write this I am feeling good.

Yes, I am feeling good.

Don’t ask me why.

Happiness goes when you speak of it.

VIKRAM KARVE  

Copyright © Vikram Karve 2009

Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

http://www.linkedin.com/in/karve

Appetite for a Stroll

http://books.sulekha.com/book/appetite-for-a-stroll/default.htm

vikramkarve@sify.com

I AM FEELING GOOD

Short Fiction   -   Pure Romance   -   A Love Story

By 

VIKRAM KARVE

Dear Reader, it is a cold morning and during my morning walk this story, one of my earliest writings, suddenly came to my mind and then perambulated in me. It made me feel good. I am sure it will make you feel good too!

I felt good.

My eyes feasted on the snow-clad Himalayan Mountain peaks painted honey-gold by the first rays of sunlight.

Behind me, deep down, was the resplendent Doon valley.

I breathed in slowly, mouth and nose together, relishing the pure, cold, nourishing mountain air.

I felt on top of the world, literally and figuratively, as I stood high in the middle of nowhere on a refreshingly cold bright morning, undecided what I was going to do, or where I was going to go.

What greater freedom than not having anything to do or anywhere to go!

I felt I was flying like a bird in the sky, with no one to take my freedom away.

“Something exciting is going to happen today,” said a tingling sensation within me, as if I were on the top of a high roller-coaster ready to plunge into unknown depths.

Suddenly, at the spur of the moment I decided to visit Victor, and with a spring in my step started walking towards Landour.

“Who’s Piyu ?” I asked Victor, picking up and opening the book lying on the bedside table.

“Piyu?” Victor said, his voice feigning ignorance but his eyes gave him away.

“Yes. Piyu! It’s written here in this book…‘ To my darling Victor, with fond memories of those wonderful moments at Port Blair. Love Piyu ‘… And Wow! Look at the lovely cursive feminine handwriting. So delicate. If her handwriting is so beautiful, she must be really gorgeous. A real beauty! Tell me. Who is she?” I asked teasingly.

“Shalini, you shouldn’t pry into others’ private matters,” Victor said.

“Private ? This is no personal dairy. It’s ‘Selected Stories of Anton Chekhov’. I’m taking it to read.”

“No,” Victor shouted and started to move his wheelchair towards me.

I know I had touched a raw nerve.

“I’m sorry,” I said and gave him the book.

He opened it and stared at Piyu’s handwriting.

“I thought there were no secrets between us,” I said.

“There aren’t,” he said.

“Except Piyu?”

“Please Shalu…….”

“You want to tell me about her?”

“Okay,” Victor said. And then he told me. About Piyu. And him. And their days in Port Blair. Maybe not everything. But whatever he wanted to tell me, he told me.

“Piyu ? A funny name?” I said.

“That’s what I called her. Like you call me Victor.”

I left it at that and said, “Now there are no secrets between us?”

“No! Now there are no secrets between us!” Victor said and gave me the book, “Read it, Shalu. There’s a story called ‘The Darling’. You’re just like the heroine. Always trying to mother me.”

“That’s because you are a naughty boy,” I teased.

“Naughty boy? I’m almost an old man. You should play with girls of your own age.”

“Play? You think I’m a small kid to play Barbie Doll? And you’re not that old either. You are just thirty.”

“I am twice your age.”

“Girls mature faster,” I said. “And your mental age is the same as mine.”

“Come on. You’re just a kid compared to me. I am a man of the world with a lot of experiences.”

“Like Piyu ………” I bit my tongue and said, “I’m sorry.”

“Piyu is a closed chapter,” Victor said.

“I’ve forgotten her,” I said “Piyu will never come between us again.”

“Promise?”

“I Promise.”

“Shalu, why don’t you come to meet me more often?” Victor asked.

“I don’t want to disturb you too much,” I replied.

“Disturb me?” he smiled. “It is impossible to disturb me. You see, I never do anything. Every day is a holiday for me, from morning to night, from the moment I get up to the moment I sleep, there is nothing to do, nothing to look forward to…”

“Don’t speak like that,” I said.

“Okay. But please come more often, Shalu. You make me feel good.”

“You too make me feel good!” I said.

It was true.

Talking to someone who needs comforting seems to make one’s own troubles go away.

“I’ll come on Wednesday. We’ve got a holiday,” I said.

“Promise?”

“Yes. We’ll discuss Anton Chekhov,” I said holding up the book.

“The Darling?”

“The Darling!” I said.

“Okay. Bye. Take care,” he said and lovingly looked at me as I began to walk away.

Victor had come into my life on a cold and rainy evening just a few months back.

I had slipped and fractured my leg playing basketball. It was a simple fracture.

Victor was convalescing from a severe injury to both his legs. His was a complex case, and for months he was confined to a wheelchair not knowing whether or when he would be able to walk again.

Actually, his name wasn’t Victor – he was Vivek – but everyone called him Victor, so I too started calling him Victor.

At first I called him Victor uncle. But as our friendship grew, somewhere on the way, the ‘uncle’ dropped. And now there were no secrets between us.

On Tuesday evening I rushed to see Victor bunking the self-study period.

“A clandestine visit,” I joked.

“Better be careful, Shalu. If your warden finds out, she may think something.”

“Let her,” I said, “I came to tell you I won’t be coming tomorrow.”

“Oh, no! I was looking forward to discussing Anton Chekhov with you.”

“Daddy is coming to Dehradun for some urgent work. He wants me to meet him at the station. He rang up the Principal for permission.”

“That’s great. I’m dying to meet your Dad. Make sure you bring him up here to Mussoorie.”

“I’ll try,” I said.

“You must. I want to ask him for your hand,” he said, tongue-in-cheek.

“How cute,” I said coyly.

“I’ll miss you,” he said.

“Take care.”

“You too take care. Okay Bye,” I said and rushed back to my hostel.

On Wednesday morning I left Mussoorie at six by the first bus and reached Dehradun railway station just in time for the express from Delhi which steamed in at eight.

Daddy was the first to get down from the AC coach and the moment he saw me his face lit up and he gave me a tight warm hug and smothered my cheeks with kisses.

“Please Papa,” I said embarrassed, “People are looking.”

“I feel so good when I see you, Shalu,” he said.

Papa kept the bag he was holding next to me and said, “Look after this. I’ll get the rest of the luggage.”

He beckoned to a porter and went back into the coach.

“Rest of the luggage?” I wondered.

Normally Papa travelled light, with just one bag.”

Soon there were three bags, a basket and a tall young woman with a small child in her arms standing beside Papa.

“Shalu, this is Ms. Bhattacharya. We travelled together from Delhi,” Papa introduced the woman, who smiled a sweet hello, and we began following the porter to the exit.

I looked at the woman through the corner of my eye. She was a real beauty, fair, with a skin like smooth cream. She looked straight ahead, as if looking at a distant object, and walked on expressionless.

But I noticed the way my Papa stole glances at her when he thought I wasn’t looking and I knew that she was much more than a mere fellow passenger.

I felt a tingle of excitement. Something was brewing. Maybe Papa was falling in love. Ten years after mummy had gone.

My father walked with a spring in his step, pulling his stomach in and thrusting his chest out.

“You seem very happy, Papa,” I said mischievously.

“Yes. Yes.” he said, “I’m so happy to see you, Shalu. You look so good.”

He opened the door of the taxi and looked at her, trying to mask the undisguised love in his eyes. It seemed a desperate case of thunderbolt.

I decided to have a bit of fun, quickly got in the car, and said, “Thanks, Papa, for treating me like a lady.”

Then I looked at the woman and said, “Bye Auntie.”

“Auntie is coming with us,” Papa said, “Shalu, you sit in front.”

“It’s okay, I’ll sit in front,” Ms. Bhattacharya said.

“There’s place for all of us at the back,” I said. “We can keep the basket in front next to the driver.”

I shifted, she sat next to me with the baby on her lap, Papa next to her on the other side and we drove in silence through Palton Bazar towards Rajpur road.

I kept quiet, waiting for Papa to tell me everything, but he too remained silent, probably because of the driver.

He got off outside an office. “You two can go to the guest house and freshen up. I’ll join you after finishing my work.

We sat alone at the breakfast table. The baby was sleeping inside. I looked at Ms. Bhattacharya. She looked so elegant yet youthful.

Late twenties? Maybe! Or maybe a bit younger.

I was dying to ask her everything, wondering what to say, when she looked into my eyes and spoke softly, “Shalu, I want to be your mother.”

I was touched by the way she phrased it.

I can’t begin to describe the emotions I felt, but instinctively I blurted out, “Why didn’t Papa tell me?”

She touched my hand and said, “He felt shy, embarrassed. You know how he is. He wanted me to tell you. And leave the decision to you.” She paused, and said; “I know it’s difficult for you. I promise we’ll do what you want. But try to understand. Your Papa feels very lonely.”

“And you?” I asked.

“I am lonely too,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

Suddenly she started to cry into her handkerchief, “I’m sorry,” she said, got up, and went into her room.

I sat confused.

She had been so calm and composed. And suddenly she broke down.

Had I said something wrong?

Maybe I was too young to understand. All I wanted was that Papa should be happy, everyone should be happy; even she should be happy.

Ms. Bhattacharya came out of the room. She had washed up, done up her face and looked so beautiful, so vulnerable, that I instantly felt like hugging her.

Something inside told me that she would make Papa very happy. And me too!

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just that sometimes you wait for a moment and when it comes you don’t know what to do with it.”

 “I like you,” I said. “I know you’ll make Papa happy. Only I wish Papa had told me. Shall I call you mummy?”

She smiled, “Come on Shalini. Be my friend. Call me Priya.”

“Okay,” I held out my hand, “Priya, let’s be friends. And you call me Shalu.”

“Shalu, actually even I wanted your Papa to tell you,” she said.

“He must’ve been embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?”

“To tell me that he’s fallen in love at his age.”

“He’s only 43.”

“And you, Priya?”

“28. Oh come on, I shouldn’t be telling you my age.”

“You look 25,” I said.

She blushed. The baby cried. She went inside.

I went into my room and lay on the bed. What a day! I just couldn’t wait to tell Victor all this. He’d die laughing. Maybe I should marry him. We are so happy together. If Papa can marry Priya, why can’t I marry Victor?

They – 43 and 28 – Adult Love!

We – 15 and 30 – Puppy Love?

It’s not fair, isn’t it?

I drifted into sleep.

When I woke up, Papa was sitting beside me on the bed.

“It’s past one,” he said. “Let’s go for lunch.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Papa?” I asked.

His cheeks, his ears became red. He avoided my eyes.

“I guessed it the moment I saw you two at the station,” I said.

“You’ve really grown up, Shalu,” Papa said. “I’m so happy you have accepted her and your little brother.”

“Brother?” I said dumbstruck, and slowly comprehension dawned on me. I closed my eyes. All sorts of thoughts entered my brains. And suddenly everything was clear. “Oh yes. My little brother.”

Lunch passed off in a trance and soon we were on our way to Mussoorie. I’d wanted to go alone by bus, but Papa wouldn’t hear of it. He had work at the site office near Mussoorie and Priya wanted to see my school. She hadn’t been to Mussoorie before.

It was almost five when Papa got off at the site office and we were cruising on the Mall on the way to my school. Priya was looking out of the window as if searching for something. Suddenly she asked the driver to stop.

“I have to get something. Please look after the baby for a moment,” she said.

I took the baby in my lap and saw her enter Hackman’s, the biggest departmental store in Mussoorie.

She returned fast. “A small gift for you, Shalu” she said giving me a gift-wrapped packet and an envelope containing a greeting card.

I opened the envelope. It was a ‘Thank-you’ card.

She had written a message on the inside of the card:  “…To my darling daughter and friend, Shalini…”

I kept on starting at the beautiful handwriting, unable to read further.

Instantly, I recognized the same unique familiar lovely cursive handwriting, so feminine, so delicate.

Tremors started reverberating in my stomach, like a roller coaster. My pulse was racing. The car negotiated the steep road past Picture Palace up the winding slopes of Landour.

“Priya, look,” I said pointing out of the car window, “that’s the oldest building in Mussoorie. It’s called Mullingar. Isn’t it just like the Cellular Jail?”

“Yes,” she said.

“You’ve seen Cellular Jail?” I asked.

“Of course,” she said. “Many times.”

“You’ve been to Port Blair?” I persisted.

“Yes. I’ve lived there. It’s a lovely place,” she said.

“How lucky,” I said. “I’ve only seen pictures of Cellular Jail.”

Silence. Pregnant silence.

Then I spoke, looking at her child seated on her lap, “Baby. He’s so cute. How old is he?”

“Six months,” she said.

“You haven’t named him?

“Oh yes,” she said, “we call him Baby, his real name is Vivek.”

“Vivek?”

“Yes. Vivek ,” she said “It’s a nice name, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I answered.

I patted the driver on the shoulder and said, “Seedha Le Chalo. Jaldi. Drive fast. To Landour Hospital.”

“Hospital?” Priya asked flabbergasted.

“I want you to meet someone,” I said.

The car stopped outside the hospital. “Come,” I said, and Priya holding her baby in her arms followed me towards the door of Victor’s room.

I opened the door and said, “Come Piyu. Go right in. Your Victor is waiting for you, for both of you.”

I didn’t wait to see the expression on her face.

I quickly turned and ran to the car and shouted to the driver, “Driver – jaldi karo. Be quick. Take me to the site office. Fast.”

As the car descended down the steep slopes of Landour, past Char-Dukan, towards Picture Palace at the end of the Mall, I took out Anton Chekhov’s book from my purse.

I’ll have plenty of time to read it now.

Maybe I’ll keep it as a souvenir to remember Victor.

I opened the book, read on the first page: “To my darling Victor…Love. Piyu.”

I took out my cell-phone and sent an SMS to Victor: “Happy Reunion!”

Then I turned the page and began reading Anton Chekhov’s enthralling short story ‘The Darling.’

As I write this I am feeling good.

Yes, I am feeling good.

Don’t ask me why.

Happiness goes when you speak of it.

VIKRAM KARVE  

Copyright © Vikram Karve 2009

Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

http://www.linkedin.com/in/karve

Appetite for a Stroll

http://books.sulekha.com/book/appetite-for-a-stroll/default.htm

vikramkarve@sify.com

Mate Soulmate SPDP  

Short Fiction – A Tasty Story

By

VIKRAM KARVE

Pune. Fergusson College Road. Vaishali Restaurant. 5 PM on a Sunday evening.

Crowded. Crammed full. Jam-packed. All tables occupied chock-a-block. Aisles teeming with people waiting with watchful eyes for signs of someone finishing their refreshments.

Suddenly I see a woman waving to me, beckoning me with her hand. Her face seems familiar – oh yes, she is Ravi’s wife. She is sitting all alone on a table for two with a half eaten masala dosa in front of her.

I walk towards her and give her a smile.

“Sit down, sit down,” she says to me, gesturing with her hand towards the empty chair opposite her, “Sit down here with me, otherwise you will have to wait for hours.”

I sit down opposite her and say, “Thanks.”

She summons a waiter and orders peremptorily, “SPDP.”

“Two?” the waiter asks.

“No, one SPDP for Madam,” she says pointing to the empty plate in front of me without even bothering to ask me, then she pauses for a moment and tells the waiter, “and get one Kachori for me.”

Before I can recover my wits, she says, “You like SPDP don’t you? Ravi told me.”

“Yes, I love the SPDP at Vaishali. In fact I come all the way here every Sunday…”

“To spend the day reading in the library opposite followed by an SPDP at Vaishali,” she completes my sentence.

“Ravi told you all this?”

“Of course. He’s told me everything about you. Ravi admires you so much, he always talks about you.”

“Really? But he never tells me anything about you.”

“What’s there to tell? I am only his housewife, you are his office wife.”

“Come on. Please don’t say that. There is nothing like that between me and Ravi. We are just colleagues – workmates…”

“Workmates?” Ravi’s wife interrupts, and then says with a hint of sarcasm, “I think you are his true soulmate – and I am only his mate!”

I am struck dumb, feel a bit uneasy, but suddenly the plate of SPDP is kept in front of me, so I look down and begin to eat.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “Don’t get angry. I was just teasing. I want you to be Ravi’s friend. He likes you so much. That’s why he is so happy in office and doing so well in his work.”

I stop eating; look up at her vacuously, wondering what to say.

“Ravi appreciates you so much he even brings you home to me every evening in his thoughts and talks…that’s why I wanted to meet you.”

“We’ve met before…”

“Only once, that too only an introduction, at the Office Annual Day get-together…we are hardly married for three months, you know, and you all are so busy, with your targets and all, so I decided to meet you, talk to you, get to know you better, make a friendship…”

“You mean…”

“Yes, I contrived this coincidence. I came to the library also, but you were so busy browsing that I did not want to disturb you, so I waited here in Vaishali knowing you would surely come for your SPDP.”

“You’re not eating your Kachori,” I say, trying to change the direction of the conversation.

“Here, you eat,” she says pushing her untouched plate of Kachori and katori of whipped curds towards me, “I am all full – I ate an Uttapam, Idli-Vada Sambar, god-knows-what, waiting for you to come…”

She leans forward and casually picks up a Sev Potato Dahi Puri from my plate, pops into her mouth and says, “Wow. I love the chatpata flavour of SPDP – you call it Umami taste or something – that’s what you told Ravi, isn’t it?”

“I think I’ll go now,” I say, feeling distinctly uncomfortable, making up my mind to have a long talk with Ravi the moment I meet him in the morning at work.

“No, no, don’t go, I want to show you something.”

“Show me something?”

“Yes, that’s why I came all the way here to meet you.”

We finish the SPDP and Kachori, I insist on paying the bill, she doesn’t object too much, and then she takes me to the drapery section of the Shopping Mall nearby.

“We are furnishing our new house,” she says, pointing at the curtain cloth on display.

I look at her clueless.

“I like yellow, you like blue, and since you have told him about the aesthetic cool tranquil beauty of the blue colour, Ravi is besotted with everything blue – blue shirts, blue trousers, blue table-covers, blue bed-sheets, blue napkins, the sober blue everything that you make him buy…”

I look furtively and self-consciously at the blue dress I am wearing, and say, “Okay, tell me which curtains you like.”

She points to a bright yellow floral print and says, “I like that one, I love yellow, so lively and cheerful… I hate sober gloomy colours, especially blue, it depresses me.”

Next morning at the office, Ravi says to me, “Hey, keep yourself free in the evening. We’ll go to Deccan for some shopping. You’ve got to help me select curtains for our new home. Then we’ll have SPDP at Vaishali.”

“Sure, Ravi, I’ll love to come with you,” I say.

Now I’ve got till evening to decide one thing – which colour curtains should I tell Ravi to buy – Yellow Curtains or Blue Curtains?

VIKRAM KARVE

 Copyright © Vikram Karve 2009

Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com 

http://www.linkedin.com/in/karve 

Appetite for a Stroll

vikramkarve@sify.com

Certain Girls by Jennifer Weiner

If you have not read “Good in Bed”, do read it if you get a chance. It is a really good read; and far better than it’s rather suggestive title and cover would imply. It is also far better than this rather tepid sequel.

Certain Girls takes place about 15 years after Good in Bed ends. Cannie Shapiro (the heroine in Good in Bed) is now happily married to her dream guy, and she has a 13 year old daughter (from a previous relationship). She spends her time ghost-writing some science fiction novels and planning how to organize her daughter (Joy’s) upcoming bat mitzvah.

Cannie’s husband Peter is dreaming about having another baby and convinces his wife to try out for another baby. Following the trauma of Joy’s birth, Cannie’s not able to have more children, so it means finding a surrogate.

Joy is struggling with an identity crisis. She feels stifled and embarassed by her mother’s over-protectiveness. She has also stumbled across an old book written by her mother, which reveals certain family truths that disturb her.

The story alternates between Joy’s and Cannie’s points of view, so it makes it easy for the reader to understand their motivations.

Eventually, this is a family story that revolves around how mother and daughter resolve various issues that are tearing the family apart, and the life lessons they learn along the way.

My take on this novel:

I don’t know what I was expecting when I checked out Certain Girls; but it definitely wasn’t this.

The first half of the story was quite predictable and I found the mother-daughter fights to be a wee bit on the hysterical side – way too much drama for very trivial things.

For example, for half the book there is an ongoing drama about a Badgley Mischka dress that Joy wants to wear for her bat mitzvah and to which her mother strenuously objects. I just didn’t get why there was so much fuss over what seemed to be a non-issue. Cannie objects (not for financial reasons, which might make sense), but because it is too party-like for what is essentially a religious ceremony. I really felt that she was being quite unreasonable there. A young girl on the brink of a ceremony that symbolizes her entry into adulthood would definitely want something a llittle grown-up. Also, the dress sounded prefectly lovely and perfectly suitable to me.

In addition, I was quite disappointed by Cannie’s character. She was very lively and witty in Good in Bed, but here, she seemed to have settled down into becoming a suburban and somewhat whiny mum. She is unable to forget and forgive the people who have done her wrong in the past. I found that rather childish; I mean it’s been more than 10 years for God’s sake. Surely, you can’t still be holding a grudge against people!!

Well, anyway the hysteria builds up to a point where Joy decides to run away from home. And I must say, that is the point onwards where the story direction starts to move in a very unexpected manner. The end of the novel is a complete shocker; I just did not see it coming and neither will you.

In the end, I think the final bits of the novel redeemed it for me. I know the ending would have disappointed some other readers who were looking for something more upbeat, but for me I felt it was the only way to end the story in a strong manner, which gives enough substance to the rest of this otherwise lukewarm novel.

Be warned, it is a tearjerker though. Just perfect for those rainy days when you just want to curl up with a book under a blanket and go sob, sob, sob. I must say, I ended up with a rather runny nose after reading this one!

Genre: Chick – Lit

Year of Publication: 2005

Book 2 of The All American Girl Series

Too Good to be True by Kristan Higgins
Pages : 379
Genre : Chicklit, Romance
My Rating : 

From the Back of the Book :

When Grace Emerson’s ex-fiancé starts dating her younger sister, extreme measures are called for. To keep everyone from obsessing about her love life, Grace announces that she’s seeing someone. Someone wonderful. Someone handsome. Someone completely made up. Who is this Mr. Right? Someone…exactly unlike her renegade neighbor Callahan O’Shea. Well, someone with his looks, maybe. His hot body. His knife-sharp sense of humor. His smarts and big heart.

Whoa. No. Callahan O’Shea is not her perfect man! Not with his unsavory past. So why does Mr. Wrong feel so…right?

I first heard of Too Good to be True at S. Krishna’s Books, and I’m so glad I did! You know I’m usually not one to fall for pure romance novels, but Higgins’ writing felt a lot more like the chicklit I enjoy so much. It was cute, fun, sexy and perfectly entertaining, with a good portion of romance on the side for those who enjoy it!

Grace is an entertaining character, but also an interesting one. She’s a history teacher and a Civil War buff who enjoys participating in reenactments. She’s been inventing herself boyfriends from time to time through her life, so why not do it again? It sounds like a silly idea that can only turn badly, right? Well, yes; but it also turns out to be extremely fun. It’s written with humor without being completely silly. Just enough to keep things light and make you turn the pages quickly. Grace was also easy to sympathize with, and her voice was perfect for the narration.

I love that the story was more about Grace’s life than about Grace’s romance uniquely. Her family was complex, entertaining and frustrating at times.  Natalie, Grace’s younger sister, was a little spoiled without being insufferable, but I really appreciated her older sister, Maragaret; I would have loved to know more about her.  As for Callahan, he was sexy, yes, although a little extreme at time in his reactions. But the romance was cute and I fell for it completely.

I really enjoyed Too Good to be True, and I would definitely read more by the author – if I was able to find her books; even Amazon.ca was a dead end on this one. Fortunately, my bookstore’s website and Amazon announce reprints for the beginning of 2010. Meanwhile, you can visit the author’s website to learn more about her and her books.

I’m waiting for two things at the moment: lunch and the announcement of the winners of the 2009 Governor General’s Awards. My eye is mainly on the poetry and fiction categories and will post something about these as soon as I find out and get a chance to follow up. You can view the finalists here.

In the meantime, read these:

• Oh no! Run for the hills! (or if that’s not possible, ignore what’s coming your way…).
• There’s a raging discussion over at Bookninja about the dismissing of ChickLit. For the record, I think dismissing an entire genre is ridiculous, no matter the reason. Watch your toes….
• The previous raging discussion is getting very little concern outside the comments section of Bookninja due to this clusterf**k about reviewing in Canada. Read the comments here at your own risk.
• And because those three items above aren’t funny enough, here’s a headline Stephen Fry posted on his Twitter feed.

Genre: Chick-Lit

Year of Publication: 2004

Maid-of-honour at her best friend Holly’s wedding, Jen takes an instant dislike to best man Cal. But when Holly and Mark’s wedding plans hit a major snag that only Jen and Cal can repair, the two find themselves having to put aside their mutual dislike for one another in order for the wedding to go ahead.

DOWNLOAD LINK:

http://ifile.it/ye32t7p